


Not appropriate for therapy

by shoebox_tomboy



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Inappropriate thoughts in therapy, M/M, Poor Will Graham, Someone Help Will Graham, Will can't get a hold of himself, Will can't help himself, Will is a Mess, Will's overactive imagination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-21 16:39:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7395268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoebox_tomboy/pseuds/shoebox_tomboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will's imagination is a tool, but not a blessing. Murder and violence is one thing, inappropriate thoughts about his therapist is something else.</p><p>Basically Will is a mess and don't know what he wants or feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not appropriate for therapy

**Author's Note:**

> Might write some more chapters for this...

_There should be some sort of limit to how many inappropriate thoughts one person is allowed to have about people_ , Will thought, _or at least a limit to how many a day_. There definitely should be, and if there was such a thing then Will had passed it long ago.

He didn't know exactly why his mind started to go astray every time he met Dr. Lecter. It seemed unavoidable at this point and it was making it really difficult for Will to collect himself. And he was slowly starting to worry that Dr. Lecter was finding it rude. He didn't want to be rude, even if he sometimes couldn't help himself, least of all to Dr. Lecter. Will liked the man and hoped that the man's insistence that they could become friends was genuine.

Will would like to think of him as a friend, something Will didn't have that many of. He liked their conversations and the man's ability to make Will feel like less of an oddity to be figured out and more like a real person. Lecter's mind seemed to hold a perception that worked well with Will's own, made him feel freer and less stifled by having to fill in the gaps in people’s understanding. Will hated having to explain the most fundamental things and then wait patiently for others to catch up to him. It took too much time and often led to tedious and annoying questions.

He had started to enjoy having conversations that came easier, had a flow and felt more like exchanges than lectures. Will did enough of lecturing in class; he didn’t need more of the same in therapy. Although Dr. Lecter kept saying he shouldn’t think of it as therapy. Either way, his thoughts were getting more and more inappropriate, whether the man was his therapist or his friend.

Today it had started even before he got to Dr. Lecter’s office. Will had parked his car, taken a look at his own reflection in the rear-view mirror and seen a flurry of curls sticking out at all angels. Total bedhead, as if he just woken up despite it beeing almost seven o’clock.

 _Well, at least it looks like I got some sleep at some point_ ; Will thought and let out a sigh _. Maybe I can make it work if I take of the glasses and give him my best bedroom eyes. **Fuck!**_ _Yeah, nice one Graham_ , he scolded himself, _what was that going to get you?_

He pushed up his glasses and carded his fingers through his hair. _Bedroom eyes – **Christ!** – did he really think of going in to his therapist’s office hoping to look like he just got laid? _

_And then what? Slump down in the chair; give the man a guilty look and a half smile? Lick his lips and duck his chin, take of his glasses and look up at Lecter through full lashes, maybe make an awkward remark? Hope for a half blush – no, he probably was going to blush for real if he ever caught himself doing that. Putting on a show, a … what, flirt? Would he have followed it up with a little smirk?_

_And if he did, if he got himself in an awkward little situation with the good doctor, then what? Lecter would notice, see right through the whole thing and find him pathetic. Not that the man would say so, he was far to dignified to. No, it would be a nice little pathetic attempt filed away in Lecter’s head forever. The man probably had a goddamn photographic memory._

_And for what? To look desirable? Like someone who gets to fuck once in a blue moon? Like Dr Lecter couldn’t see right through that too, and who the hell cared if their therapist thought – what exactly?_ The thoughts had gotten so far away from him that he wondered if he really was crazy. _Bedroom eyes! Jesus…_

But it was strange that Will even noticed his hair at all. He never really cared what he looked like. He probably only looked unkempt to Dr. Lecter, like a stray in need of a bath. Will felt like he needed a bath. And an aspirin. And a few weeks’ worth of sleep.

Suddenly looking like a train wreck – the train wreck he more or less was – felt worse than looking pathetic. Of course he wanted to look anything other than an unwashed mess; sweat-curls in his hair, coffee-breath and he could swear that he had circles under his eyes. It was vanity, because Dr. Lecter in his immaculate three piece suits and slicked back hair and with his expensive furniture made him feel like he wanted to at least have an excuse for looking disheveled.

He didn't even understand why he thought bedhead or bedroom eyes would make any differences. _Lecter probably looked as together at all times, even when he was getting his freak on, he could probably fuck someone over that desk in his office without a single hair falling out of place._ It was a thought that took wing. _What_ _would Dr. Lecter look like in a situation like that? Rumpled suit jacket on the floor, shirt unbuttoned, tie hanging loose,_ _h_ _air falling out of place,_ _his pants down round his ankles..._ _  
_

"Shit!" Will swore out loud. "Fuck!" He had just imagined his psychiatrist wild eyed, panting and more or less naked. _Not smart_ _..._ ** _Get a grip Graham!_** Will pressed his forehead against the steering wheel and tried in vain to clear his mind. His imagination was a great tool but certainly not a blessing. He knew he had to get out of his car and go a cross the street and in to the mans office. Will had to keep it together and not think about what he imagined Dr. Lecter looked like in the throes of passion.

 _All heavy panting with dark piercing eyes, that blond hair falling across his forehead, lips red and swollen from kisses and bites... Someone so controlled would certainly fuck without restraint, like a wild savage animal. All raw and powerful emotion once the civilized veneer has cracked._ Will groaned. He had to stop! Just stop! No more or his sanity really would be compromised.

No one should ever think about their therapist like this, not if they wanted to keep seeing him. And Will did. He never liked therapy, going through his psyche with someone who often knew less about the mind then himself. Hated having incompetent people fumbling around in his head. But with Dr. Lecter it never felt like that. It was unlike any kind of therapy Will had ever experienced and he had come to appreciate it. He felt it gave him something he needed, a way of grounding himself as well as a sounding board. The last thing he needed was for that to be taken from him by his own overactive imagination.


End file.
